by Sofia Daniel
“They’ll break their promise, now,” she said in hushed tones.
“I backed up those videos onto a completely different server.”
Her eyes flashed. “But they don’t know that!”
“He’ll report back that he saw me delete the videos of Charlotte and Mr. Carbuncle in my room, but they’ll know I have one more.”
She tilted her head to the side. “The one that doesn’t contain the you-know-what?”
I shrugged. “That video’s going to protect me. Charlotte and Blake think I have it.”
Her brows twisted with doubt. “I hope you’re right.”
Her skepticism made me text Mom and ask her to buy me a ticket to New York for the mid-term break. When she didn’t reply, I called Marissa in New York, who said she would have to speak to her boss, who was on vacation. If I’d had enough money on my cards, I would have bought my own ticket, but I’d used several months’ allowances to buy the security cameras.
Although the triumvirate and their hangers-on ignored me the next morning, with each passing day, Rita’s warnings rattled in my skull. Edward and his group didn’t like to be outmaneuvered, and with the cameras in my room and the recording, I’d done just that. Mom continued to ignore my texts, even when I told her it was an emergency. She’d never, ever been this negligent with any of her previous husbands. The last person I wanted to tell about my dire situation was Dad. If I triggered another relapse, I’d never forgive myself.
The school trip started with the ringing of a handbell early in the morning. After dressing, Rita and I sat in the front of a coach with Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins, Miss Oakley from English Lit, and our sycophantic Latin instructor, Mr. Frost. I slept through most of the journey, and just after midday, we arrived on the roadside at the middle of a landscape of breathtaking hills and valleys.
We all piled out of the coaches into the cold, windy afternoon and met our instructor, a burly army type called Bingham, and his six young assistants who seemed to know Mr. Frost. He told us we would hike up a hill, set up our tents, then have a barbecue dinner, followed by hot chocolate and a motivational movie. I shared a glance with Rita. We hadn’t had our lunch yet. How long would this hike last?
While one of the assistants drove the teachers up the hill in a four by four, the rest of us shouldered on our backpacks and trudged behind the instructors. The wind blew droplets of rain onto our faces, and I kept my head down and gritted my teeth.
Blake hiked at my side, not even remotely out of breath. “Enjoying the view?”
Keeping my gaze away from the top of the interminable hill, I muttered, “Not really.”
“You know,” he murmured in a low voice, “I was looking forward to getting to know you on this trip.”
I gulped and stared at him from the corner of my eye. The bastard looked good even in waterproof gear, but I was still smarting from his lack of reaction when Edward upturned the table at my feet. “How?”
“Well,” he said in a tone both wheedling and seductive. “All those long walks, caves, and secret peaks. A couple could get lost for a very long time.”
“Like in the Blue Lagoon?” It was an old movie where a boy and girl got marooned on a deserted island, grew up, fell in love and had a baby.
“The what?”
I turned my head away, and in my most dismissive tone, said, “Never mind.”
Blake jogged up the hill and caught up with his friends, giving me the peace to walk up with Rita. She told me that she’d befriended an upper sixth year from the other house whose brother had gained a music scholarship for Oxford. I smiled, enjoying her company. It was rare for her to talk about herself.
After a brief lunch of store-bought sandwiches and bottled water, we set off again for the longest part of the hike. By the time we reached the campsite, the sun had dipped below the horizon and the scent of barbecued burgers lingered in the breeze. Bingham, our instructor, pointed out the kitchen, the toilet blocks, and the women’s and men’s shower blocks. Then he gestured at a huge space by a grove of oak trees and told us to set up our tents.
Rita and I managed to set up our groundsheet. We struggled so much with the tent, I became overheated and had to take off my waterproof jacket. Eventually, Blake took pity on us and set up our tent. I kept my eyes on each step on the printed-out instructions, making sure he didn’t make a half-hearted attempt that would blow out in the wind. He didn’t.
After hammering the last peg, he stepped back and grinned. “What do you think?”
“It looks great.” I smiled, ignoring the twinges of guilt in my gut from having ignored him on the climb up. “Thanks.”
“You know…” He sidled up to me. “Edward and Henry are sharing, and I’m all alone. You can have first dibs on warming me up tonight.”
“Thanks,” I said, voice flat and robotic. The long trek up the hill had sapped my energy, and I couldn’t even get mildly excited about his indecent proposal. “I’ll consider your tempting offer.”
His grin widened, and he walked toward the barbecue. “Sleep with me tonight. You might not regret it.”
I shook my head. The last place I wanted to end up was Blake’s tent. The guy might be hot, but I couldn’t trust him not to double-cross me in the middle of the night and let his friends do something nefarious to my sleeping body. Rita and I walked over to the barbecue and ate our burgers at one of the tables and chairs set up around the outdoor kitchen. A few feet away, Charlotte made a fool of herself flirting with an increasingly irritated Henry. The poor, deluded girl was so blinded by desperation, she couldn’t pick up on even the most obvious of cues.
After dinner, all traces of sunlight had disappeared, leaving about six stone fire pits around the dining area for illumination. A cool breeze blew through the campsite, and Rita huddled close for warmth. Bingham and the instructors handed out steaming mugs of cocoa that tasted like melted chocolate with a dash of liqueur. Everyone, including Rita and me, hummed with appreciation at the rich, sweet beverages. Bingham set up a projector and a huge, outdoor screen, then announced the subject of the motivational movie. Himself.
I leaned into Rita. “This guy’s got an ego the size of the Peak District.”
She dipped her head and giggled into her cocoa.
His assistants walked around with huge, insulated carafes of cocoa, refilling our mugs. I sniffed at mine. “This tastes stronger than the previous version.”
“They might be getting us drunk enough to endure his film,” she whispered.
Since everyone was drinking the same thing, I took a few sips, enjoying its creamy, chocolatey goodness. The shot of alcohol gave it a kick that stopped the drink from becoming cloying.
A younger version of Bingham, clad in cut-off cargo pants, walked onto the screen, making everyone cheer. I couldn’t hear whatever he talked about because of the hooting at his hairy shins and eighties-style haircut. Maybe it was the influence of the spiked cocoa, but I also giggled into my mug.
Then the video stopped, and a close up of Charlotte fellating Blake filled the screen. My stomach dropped, along with the contents of my mug. How many times had she done this with Blake, and why had she let him record it?
The hooting stopped, replaced by shocked silence. Everyone, including Rita and me, fixed our gazes on the mesmerizing sight of Charlotte’s enthusiastic work on Blake’s member. I shook my head. Who could have broadcasted this?
“You fucking bitch!” Charlotte sprinted out of the darkness and threw the contents of her mug in my face.
Hot cocoa scalded my skin, causing me to catch my breath in a loud gasp. Some of it seeped into my eyes, making me rear back and fall off my camp chair.
Before I could tell her the video wasn’t my doing, a heavy boot landed in my diaphragm, causing the muscles around my ribs to spasm. All the air escaped my lungs in a rush, and when I inhaled, it got stuck at the bottom of my windpipe. My lungs wheezed out even more air, leaving me struggling. She kicked me again, this time, her boot landing in my gu
t. I cried out and curled into a ball.
“How dare you!” she booted me in the side of the stomach.
Her first strike had been so devastating, I couldn’t even roll away or muster up the lung capacity to tell her it wasn’t me. Before she could do any more damage, someone dragged her off.
Rita pulled me to my feet. “Are you alright?”
I doubled over, gasping for air with rapidly cooling chocolate dripping from my face. Before I could answer, Mrs. Jenkins, the house matron, whisked me to the bathroom block, muttering about the folly of broadcasting a young lady’s indiscretion. She washed the chocolate off my face, made me take several sips of water, and walked me to my tent, telling me to go to bed and wait to until the morning for my punishment.
Trembling so hard I could barely function, I climbed into the sleeping bag, boots on, and lay on my side still reeling from the shock of having my phone stolen and from Charlotte’s brutal attack. My head spun. My mind went around in circles. Who could possibly have done this? The only people I was certain could be innocent were Rita, because she wouldn’t do such a terrible thing, and Charlotte, due to her fury at the video. Whoever it was had stolen my phone to make it look like I was the culprit because it was no longer in my pocket. Thoughts and suspicions swirled within my brain until exhaustion and alcohol dragged me into slumber.
I awoke to the sun shining through my eyelids and the sound and feel of hot breaths in my ear. When I opened my eyes, I was no longer in my tent, and a sheep was chewing at my hair. I raised my hands to shove the beast away, but they were duct taped at the elbows and wrists.
Chapter 10
I shrieked and yanked my head away, but the sheep kept my hair in its teeth and jerked toward me. My heart pounded to the beat of a war drum. What had they done? Covered me in sheep pellets? Another sheep, this one with long, floppy ears, nibbled at my feet. I shoved the animal away, making it bolt. The one at my hair bleated and continued chewing. Its hot breath heated the side of my face, filling my nostrils with the musky scent of grass and lanolin.
“Get the fuck off me, now!” I screamed the last word.
Sheep-face finally got the message and walked away, releasing wet, grassy strands of hair to slap into my face. I growled. The bastards who had brought me out here had woven clumps of grass into my hair along with something earthy, hoping I’d be eaten alive by a sheep.
Worst of all, they’d bound my wrists, thighs, and ankles with duct tape before zipping me into this insulated prison. I jerked my hands up through the tiny opening at the neck and chewed at the duct tape at my wrists. It was the type fortified with tiny strings of plastic, so it couldn’t be easily ripped. I shot a glare at the wall of hedgerows at my back. Edward, Blake, Charlotte and her doppelgängers were probably crying with laughter, filming my ultimate humiliation.
Sweat poured down my brow, mingling with dew, sheep saliva, and goodness-knows what else. The wind blew across the meadow, chilling my damp skin until I shuddered with the cold. Up ahead, a quintet of sheep stood in a clump, watching my struggles with eyes that shone with intelligence.
I shook my head. Now wasn’t the time for my mind to reimagine a dire situation supernatural. I had to get out of here before the triumvirate brought the sheepdog or some other kind of horror.
By the time I’d chewed through enough of the duct tape to break free, my jaw ached and felt ready to drop off its hinges. I had to admire Charlotte for her oral endurance. Mine was sorely lacking. I unzipped myself, jerked free of the tape around my elbows, and peeled off the layers securing my legs. My only saving grace was the shock of last night’s attack forcing me to sleep fully clothed, otherwise, they’d be filming me in my pajamas.
As soon as I got free, I jumped to my feet and ignored the ache in my shoulders and hamstrings from the struggle. A fallen branch lay on the side. Small enough for me to lift and large enough to wield like a club and break some heads. They had promised. Promised a ceasefire in exchange for the deleted videos, and broken their agreement on the first night of the camp.
“Assholes!” I picked up the branch and dragged it along the meadow, looking for an opening in the hedgerow.
There were none.
Nobody laughed, nobody moved, and nobody called me trollop. They’d somehow removed me from my tent, transported me here and left me all alone with the sheep.
My shoulders drooped, and all the anger spilled out of my chest, replaced by the cold realization that they hadn’t cared if I’d been attacked by a wild animal or taken by a lunatic.
They’d left me out here bound and vulnerable and alone.
I closed my eyes and let out a shuddering breath. Rita had warned me, but I’d thought she had exaggerated by hinting that they could be capable of murder. She’d been right. They really didn’t care about anyone but themselves. The branch slipped from my fingers. I trudged back to the sleeping bag and picked it up. Grass-covered hills surrounded me on three sides, with the hedgerow at my back, giving me three choices of direction to travel. From the position of the sun, it was probably about nine, but none of that mattered since I was completely and utterly lost.
Dark streaks in the grass lay several feet ahead that looked like tire tracks, and I followed the trail they’d left. Maybe they would lead me to a road or a house, where I could make a call and get someone to collect me.
I reached the bottom of the hill, and after about an hour of aimless wandering, a tall, thin man who looked more scarecrow than farmer stepped out from behind a hedgerow. His beady eyes widened at the sight of me, and his cracked lips spread into a grin of crooked, yellowed teeth. “Are you lost, love?”
“Yes.” I glanced down the windy road. “I’m looking for a campsite.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Which one?”
“I’m with an outward bound company run by a man called Bingham. Is there any way of telling which one he booked?”
His lips turned down. “Can’t say there is.”
“Do you have a phone I can borrow?” I asked.
“Can’t say I have, but you can warm up in my shed if you like.” He thrust out his hips and jangled something in his pocket. “I’ve got whiskey.”
My jaw tightened. No phone, no car, but a supply of whiskey for two? No thanks. “Can’t say I have the time.”
I walked down the dirt road at double speed, ready to club scarecrow man in the face with my fist if he snuck up from behind. By the time I mustered the courage to turn around, he’d disappeared back into the hedgerows. I continued down the narrow road until it opened up into a slightly larger road, bordered by hedges on both sides and with space for two directions of traffic. I walked until my stomach growled, my feet throbbed, and my chest ached.
Tears rolled down my cheeks. How could they do this? Who would dump a person where they couldn’t even flag down a vehicle for help? I had no idea where they’d left me, or the location of the campsite. I could be halfway to Scotland or Wales by now, and nobody would find me.
Midday came and went, and I was still trudging through this maze of back roads. But as the sun hung halfway from its zenith, a white police car rolled past. I let go of the sleeping bag and broke into a run.
It took moments to reach the road, and I stood in the middle of it, waving my arms and screaming like a lunatic. The police car’s brake lights went on, then it reversed and stopped a few feet away. I stumbled to the passenger side and crouched down.
The policeman frowned at my face, let me into his car, and asked me what had happened. The dam I had over my emotions broke, and the entire story came out in a rush, starting from getting blamed for the recording of Charlotte, waking up in a field with my hair munched on by sheep, to finding an occupied road after hours of trudging through hedges. He reached for his radio, and the mechanical voice told him the location of my campsite.
“How do I report a crime?” I asked.
“You should be more worried about the young lady making a complaint about you,” he replied.
“What?”
“It’s illegal to record people without their consent. Depending on your age, she might be able to press charges against you.”
My stomach plummeted. I’d just confessed to committing a crime to a police officer. “Even though she was part of the group that left me out here?”
“Can you identify any of the people behind the prank?”
I clenched my jaw. Leaving someone tied, bound, and at the mercy of fate should be classified as assault at the very least. “No. I was asleep when it happened.”
He raised a shoulder. “There you go. Unless she’s willing to own up, there’s little you can do.”
I stopped talking after that. It seemed that the justice system was stacked against victims of bullying and favored those who pushed the boundaries of morality and decency to dressed up their acts as jokes. I stared out of the window at the green wilderness. Someone with a car must have helped them. There was no way even Henry could carry a person this far.
About an hour later, the policeman dropped me off at the campsite. Miss Oakley sat alone on a camp chair with two phones on her lap. The old woman raised her head and stood, letting them both fall to the ground. The policeman explained where he had found me and went back into his car without asking for a witness statement or even the names of the suspects.
Miss Oakley tilted her head to the side. “I’m afraid it’s natural for people to become hostile to your sort.”
My mouth fell open, but no words came out. What the hell did that mean?
She patted me on the back. “Not to worry. Get yourself cleaned up, and I’ll make you a cup of tea.”
My nostrils flared. “Tea? Don’t you want to know who did this to me?”
She pursed her lips. “The sooner you clean it off, the sooner you’ll forget about it!”